Agony
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: This is what you want. This is what you desire. These are all the dreams you've ever had. Too bad it's come to this, eh, Himemiya-sama? Episode 7; Chikane-centric.


**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to their respective owners, ©2004. The verses listed below belong to Robert Browning's "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" and William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" respectively, nor do I own this anime's ending theme ("Agony") sung by KOTOKO.

_A/N #2: Revised August 17, 2008._

_Also . . . ._

_Want to continue on the path of the psychological gauntlet? Then be prepared for "Agony: Moroha-Tou", coming in the near future. Can you handle the double-edge sword?_

_A/N: To make a long story short, I wrote a quarter of this around the time I was watching KnM in November 2007. The idea came after the conclusion of Episode Eight, when I saw Chikane in a very, very negative light. However, when I came back to writing "Agony", my opinion of her had changed after finishing the show. What was once supposed to be a fanfic attacking her actions late in the series turned out to be a psychological insight into her mind, the struggle she faces in her feelings for Himeko and her battle against the Orochi._

_What follows is mild to heavy Chikane bashing, but perhaps if one looks back on it after reading it, it may be for a good reason._

_On a final note, by the time you (the reader) finish "Agony", you'll probably be asking who this 'voice' talking to Chikane may be. The answer is that its identity is meant to _

_be very open-ended, but just for the record it is NOT the Orochi. I'll leave that up to you to decide who the voice really is._

_So please enjoy. Constructive criticism and feedback are welcomed and appreciated._

* * *

**Agony**

* * *

_"Suffering is the ancient law of love; there is not quest without pain; there is no lover who is not also a martyr."_  
-- Heinrich Seuse

_"Agony, (n); (1) extreme and generally prolonged pain; intense physical or mental suffering."_

* * *

How can such New Age philosophy become bittersweet torture? How does a melody of utmost importance sound so quizzical? When did words start having double meanings?

Chikane Himemiya didn't know.

When did knowledge become the forbidden fruit? How long had the snake been in hiding? Why did the twilight seem so ominous?

Chikane Himemiya didn't know.

Why was she so cold? Why was the air so hard to breathe, so painful to move? Why were her teeth numb? Her eyes thick and heavy? Her chest mauled and the world so small and dream-like?

Was it always like this?

Chikane Himemiya didn't know anymore, for she was beyond knowing past the point of no return.

_"Thou shalt not lay with mankind as with womankind, for it is detestable."_

How does it feel to be blindly enamored to one who is unrequited? How did it feel when you held the red string dangling snipped from your wrist?

_'I can't feel this way . . . . I don't think of her that way . . . .'_

How did it feel holding her in your arms, her heat all-encompassing, filling your well with desire? How did it feel having her scent flaring through your nostrils? Your heart pounding like brass drums? And your virgin rose in full bloom?

_'I don't feel that way! . . . . I would never --'_

-- see her in that light? Then why did you kiss her?

_'I didn't kiss--'_

You did! Do not lie! You undressed her with those eyes, that lustful gaze! You caressed those honeydew lips and stole the saint's kiss!

_'I had no choice--!'_

EXCUSES, EXCUSES, EXCUSES! All you make are excuses! Admit you are lovesick! Admit you are desperate! Admit you are honest and true! Admit you love this woman from the bottom of your heart, that you would go to the ends of the Earth and back for her, that you would protect her from the night, from the wayward peoples, from the Orochi, from Souma Ogami! Admit you are _hungry for her . . . !_

_'I never thought of doing that! I would never, NEVER on this human mind, life and soul, THINK of doing something so abominable, so vile, so--!'_

-- whose problem is that? Do not lie, Himemiya-_sama . . . ._

She stopped. Stopped and listened to herself.

_Heave . . . . huh . . . . heave . . . . huh . . . ._

She blinked. Needles pierced her retinas.

Her mouth opened, an iron gate. She looked down and held up her hands, those steel chains.

_'I must be insane. I can't believe it . . . . I can't . . . . I don't want to . . . but . . . is it all true?'_

Of course it's true.

_'Am I really that obsessed?'_

Yeah.

_'Am I really that perverse?'_

Hell yeah.

_'Am I really that jealous? So much so that I have to make it absolutely necessary to avoid Ogami at all costs?'_

See, this is why I don't trust you. This is why I'm not relied on. This is why you're so goddamn one-dimensional.

_'Screw you!'_

Screw me? How about we screw Hime--

"FUCK OFF!!"

Flocks of crows fled from their perches, cawing their perturbation. Into the sky and towards the sun they went, disappearing over the horizon. Silence followed.

God cringed from upstairs, holding His throbbing ear drum.

Cerulean irises roamed left and right angrily, teeth set firmly together. Chikane lowered the arms she didn't recall raising and relaxed her face. The glare, however, didn't go away and neither did the storm raging inside her.

"What a mess . . . ." she murmured. If he were still alive Pope Boniface VIII would agree that yes, silence gives consent. And that it was golden.

"What a fucking mess."

No shit it was. She wasn't expecting a curveball to come flying at her like that. She wasn't prepared for that Bible-thumping Orochi freak to grope her senseless. She wasn't ready to see her fantasy world come crashing down around her in a single fucking month.

Was it all for nothing?

Certainly not, but it was because of _him_ everything was slowly trickling down the drain. And it was because of _him_ she couldn't get any closer, couldn't bask in the ephemeral sunshine that was Himeko Kurusugawa.

Himeko . . . now _there _was an angel. Such mere thoughts made Chikane tremble and her blood pulse hotly in her veins. On those nights where she would lay with the dark, the moonlight, her right hand and her hushed, wanton moans, she would indulge herself in ecstasies harbored in dreamscapes molded from whiteness and emptiness unbounded in space. And they would come: the landscapes and sounds and details and emotions, all at once becoming known. It was an ocean she would ride, dappling in daylight and pure as crystal, gentle and otherworldly in its loft.

_(Close your eyes, relax, breathe in . . . . . . breathe out. Fill yourself of salt and rain musk, of crushed grass and sunflowers . . . .)_

Yet none were more pure, more beauteous than Himeko Kurusugawa. Chikane could just imagine the other girl standing next to her in all her naked glory. She could just imagine . . . running slender fingers through cascades of silky, tawny curtains; gazing deeply and longingly into fathomless amethysts, windows leading beyond leagues of cosmos and satellites untouched by human technology; caressing smooth, tanned cheeks, down to that swan-like neck and round, creamy shoulders; arms wrapped about her curvaceous waist, so small and fragile a simple touch would break it; long, voluptuous legs entangled in her own and plump breasts flushed against her body; cherry red lips suckling that fleshy neck, knee pressed hard into that junction, gasps getting higher and higher and hearts pounding faster and faster--

WAKE UP!

Chikane swore, fingers at the ready to tear out her hair. She groaned, resignation and lust bleeding from her voice.

It was so unnerving!

Having fun?

_'No, I am not! Just leave me alone!'_

Aww, but why? You look so relaxed--

_'I'm just fucking GLAD it's over!'_

But it's true . . . .

_'It's not! Stop feeding me the hand!'_

Me? I'm just a disembodied voice in your head. What if you're the one giving into desire unrequited? Temptation is a hard hand to deal with.

"I'm not _being_ tempted," she said in a hushed tone. Her chin fell unto her heaving bosom, indigo portals forced to obey Sir Isaac Newton's Three Laws of Motion.

Her vision hazed.

--greedy hands exploring every inch of inflamed skin with life of their own--

A guttural purr vibrating along her collar bo--

--_huh . . . . . . huh . . . . . huh . . . . ._

Fingers tracing patterns on a flat sto--

--an alabaster smile, eyes shadowed by--

. . . . hips thrusting the air . . . .

Take it! TAKE IT ALL!

_"Do not bite the hand which feeds."_

_TAKE IT!_

_"Do not bite--"_

"It's a phase. All a phase. It'll go away, I promise it will. Nothing like a good catharsis wouldn't hurt."

Yeah. Nothin' at all.

A familiar whinny brought her back to reality.

Chikane turned around, beholding the tense stance of the charcoal-haired stallion. His ears flickered amiably and his tail swished at the sound of his name. At her approach Safe Chest tossed his head and leaned into her touch, nuzzling the valley betwixt her neck and left shoulder.

"Easy now," murmured the girl, "Let's go, okay? Please take . . ." _--heated breath stroking the inner shell of her ear--_ " . . . take me to Himeko."

* * *

Do you remember when life started changing? Do you remember when you began questioning everything around you? Why men raped and women suffered on the streets? Why people fought and killed over the most trivial things? Why some were straight and others were gay?

That's right. You asked yourself, _Why are they like that?_ and _How is it possible?_ You wondered why your parents didn't tell you this when they gave you the talk. But you did bring it up to them. Three in the aft'rnoon, shadows stretching to land irretrievable, trees combed by a haughty wind and scalding green tea served in the most delicate china the clan matriarch could find. Wasn't it a lovely day? Just the three of you gathered in the orchard, knights before family at King Arthur's Round Table.

Do you remember their reactions? . . . Of course you do. Right out of the blue, a shooting star 'cross the midnight sky! Time came to a complete standstill and, for a moment, the world was dead. Your mother jerked awake, nearly knocking over the pot of elixir in her hands. Those eyes, that face -- an older version of the structure you possess -- were wild and panicked; a fraction of a second, but it was all you needed to know that something was wrong. Your father made it even worse, grey orbs administering corporal surveillance from above the cup's rim. Big Brother was watching every move you made, every sound you uttered, every flicker of your eyes, every sense of wrongness in your face . . . .

NO ONE CAN ESCAPE.

Why bring up such a question? Why even bother? You weren't like that. You weren't born that way. They want you to be like one of THEM, a NORMAL PERSON. Find a rich, handsome husband; settle down, have kids, get laid, expand the Himemiya Estate, LIVE TO THE VERY FULLEST and GROW OLD TOGETHER. Side by side, headstones rising from freshly soaked soil. God Bless Their Souls.

REST IN PEACE.

They were too shocked (disturbed) to answer. They didn't know (didn't want) to answer something that was beyond their daughter's understanding (reach). In reality, they never spoke a word. Big Brother rises and marches a black parade, and Tinuviel _(sweet, sweet Tinuviel!)_ whispered away in star-shaped leaves and a Vietnamese (endless) waltz.

What a shame.

A terrible, terrible shame.

_You can (NEVER) ask for more._

You wanted more.

You watched them wherever you went, whenever time willed it. You watched from trees, from four-way intersections, from classroom windows, from shopping market aisles, from behind stairs, from books, from computers.

You wanted more.

You studied them like the mammals they were: socializing, co-existing, learning, helping, loving, holding . . . . You learned their bodies, their every curve, every muscle, every sensitive spot, every face they made in their personal throes. You read about it, looked at the posters in Health class, burning holes at their innards, their wells, their roses. _Burning, burning, burning, BURNING . . . ._

You wanted _more_.

You joined every extra curricular activity you could find. Tennis, soccer, archery, horseback riding, Aikido, gymnastics . . . . Gods, did you love the gym. The chances were innumerable! You went every day, every single _damn_ day, just to look. Screw the rules, screw the grades, the teachers. This was where paradise was at! You were God, you were Infinite, you were a Predator among Prey. It felt _SO GOOD_. Look at how shiny their skin is. Look at how curvaceous their bodies are. Look at how they press _PRESS_ into each other, mold into one, fight for the top, cry moan purr whimper . . . .

It felt SO DAMN GOOD.

There was one problem.

It wasn't enough.

You. Wanted. _MORE_.

Years passed. You were fifteen, hungry and depraved. Hungry, depraved, but still goin'. Your hunts became less frequent, sporadic, until they were nothing. Memories recalled on a whim, of tight panties, itching fingers, blood loss, withdrawal and desperation. Somehow, for some god-forsaken, utilitarian reason beyond human imagination, it just wasn't the same.

Not anymore. Probably not ever.

Over time your sex drive went dry. Empty like a desert plain. You felt like shit instead of high. (Where was this high?) You probably blew it all while you were getting off in the girls' locker room, empty save for the (sinfully) sweet trysts in the school's late hours. It was voyeurism at its best, but now . . . now it was just a thought removed several universes to the nearest black hole.

Imagine: an ordinary sheet of paper, blank and non-discrepant, tossing and turning in a gentle breeze. It rolls amongst a tide of autumn leaves, bare and skeletal from wayward voyages and careless fingers. A white comb on a shore of concrete it continues without an end, for who can say there was ever a beginning? Perhaps it was born from nothing, wild and confused in its place in the world. It could have been created by God, He who snared Chaos and tamed it with His might. Maybe it was from an egg, an extraterrestrial seed floating in the dusts of gamma ray bursts and supernovae, rejected from the primordial soup to enact its purpose into the grand scheme of all things.

Or maybe, just MAYBE, it was born from you. You whose mind is calm and chaotic and evolving to higher heights of comprehension (or disillusion).

But then SHE came. Gods be praised and demons be damned, she was the perfect picture of cherubic innocence. She dropped into your life like an open trapdoor, you who were angsting and contemplating the purpose of your existence. Theories and doctrines came and went -- of existential solitude, of nihilistic rebellion, of fatalistic wants and anarchic desires. You wonder _Why do I take up so much space?_, and I say _What a coincidence!_

Later on you would ask _How many times will I think of you before I fall asleep?_ Those days of voyeurism and instant spontaneous frottage were over. You had your hands full, your gaze fixed, and your mind plastered with motives and wit as bold as Shakespeare. The well was dry, and the flesh was not so willing.

Face it kid, you're S.O.L. Think about how frustrated you are, how cruel it would be to damn yourself the rite of coming out to the world. Think about how deep your words would be if you told her straight out your longing, your passion, your insatiable lust . . . .

BUT IT CAN NEVER BE FULFILLED.

Can you keep on going? Can you continue with the guilt gnawing at your insides? Can you ever be satisfied?

_'Himeko, I need to talk to you. Himeko! Oh, Himeko!'_

I thought so.

* * *

She stopped shy of the cliff face at night's fall, just as the column of light vanished from sight. Souma Ogami's mech stood ankle deep in the water, its right arm extended as if in the offer of alms.

'If at his counsel I should turn aside  
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,  
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly  
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride  
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,  
So much as sadness that some end might be.'

_'Where is that from?'_ asked the Lunar Priestess.

An old poem I read. I think it goes well with what we're seeing here.

_'But all I see are Souma and Himeko.'_

Are you sure?

_'What do you mean am I sure? Look around you!'_

Oh, I see many things, Himemiya. Every breath and sigh from the reaches of the deep to the ceiling of the sky.

"What are you talking about?" Hands tightened on the reins.

I see many things, none of which are not you.

_'What did you say?'_

'For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,  
What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope  
Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope  
With that obstreperous joy succeed would bring,  
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring  
My heart made, finding failure in its scope.'

"Stop talking in riddles!" she exclaimed. Safe Chest snorted and tossed its mane. "Tell me what you see!"

The next thing she knew was unbearable pain.

(Blood! So much blood!)

(A broken sword lays alongside a broken soul.)

(The Black Sun reeks of death . . . .)

(Behold, Ame no Murakumo!)

('Eyes, look your last!  
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you  
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss  
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!')

(And the circle shall continue, without end or break in rest.)

('As when a sick man very near to death  
Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end  
The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,  
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath  
Freelier outside ("since all is o'er," he saith,  
"And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;")

"No . . . . No!" she whispered. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, but the blood was still there. "Make it stop! Please stop! No more, no more! I don't want to see anymore!"

Who says I'm doing it?

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!"

But it happens every time. Don't you see?

"But why?"

Since Time immemorial, the world shatters. Nothing but remains. It's impossible.

_Impossible . . . ._

Isn't it?

_'It can't be . . . . It just can't . . . .'_

(A broken sword lays alongside a broken soul. A broken lady sits with a broken heart, and fragments of the Moon and the Stars descend upon a tortured land . . . .)

"I see . . . ." Her grip relaxed. Dark hair curtained the catastrophe playing out before her. "Now I know what it means."

(. . . fragments of the Moon and the Stars descend upon a tortured land, and the Sun sits on its crumbling throne, resplendent in dying embers . . . .)

_Help me._

* * *

Chikane couldn't look Himeko in the eye when she happened to cross her path at the stairway. The Himemiya Estate was unusually quiet, more maddening than those days of negligence between she and her elders. Buried beneath the shower head, stripped bare and vulnerable without Man or God, Chikane waited. Waited for it to come, waited for it to be near. Waited for it to tackle the gate and bring down with it the foundations of nirvana.

It never came.

* * *

Chikane?

Yeah?

There can only be one.

The clock struck zero.

* * *

"Himeko . . . there's something I need to tell you."

It came out soft, barely spoken, a whisper of wind among a bough of leaves. It would seem that said girl, she who is named Himeko Kurusugawa, did not catch those articulate words. Perhaps it was the great sound the ocean tide made, a hushed tenor calling to someone who was never there. Perhaps it was the cry of sea gulls whirling high above, laughing and mocking the fool who dare challenge silence. Perhaps it was the scent of salt and cherry blossoms, too short to live and too long to last.

Perhaps it was the erratic pounding of her heart which filled the standard white noise of her mind.

But Himeko heard. Who cannot deny the voice of Himemiya-sama?

"What is it, Chikane?"

(Under the tower of eternity, the angel and her shepherd stare, bright pools of amethyst burning in starry sapphire hues . . . .)

_'Focus, Chikane! Do what you have to do!'_ "Himeko, I . . . I . . ." Don't back down! Don't back down! "H-How do I say this . . . ?"

She blinks. "Chikane?"

She speaks! Oh, how lovely does she sound! How innocent she is! What lustrous hair and wondrous irises does your soul seek! Souma Ogami may have had his heart stolen, but he has got another thing coming.

"Ah, Himeko . . . I . . . I . . . ."

"Chikane?" she repeats. "Is something wrong?"

A blush. 'N-No! Nothing's wrong. It's just that I . . . I've been th-thinking about you."

"Me?"

She looked away, unable to meet her angel's gaze. "Y-Yes. You see, Himeko, I've done a lot of thinking lately." _('Go! Go!' she says, 'Keep going!')_ "About us. How we talk together, walk together, eat together, sleep together," _('Don't stop!')_ "how we interact with one another. You've been on my mind for as long as I can remember. At school, in class, at home, at every ball and gala I've intended, you were all I could think of.

"And yet . . . I wondered if that was it. I wondered if that was how I truly felt. I asked myself if this was how I wanted things to be. If I'd only known ahead of time that such a path would bring disgust and ire to the people around me, I would have walked away from it all. These thoughts, these feelings, these fears, everything I accumulated over the years. But now . . . now . . . ."

Oh, how to continue! How to confess in utter peace! Was there no sympathy for one so honest, so true and faithful to her cause?

(She fidgets, aches, stutters. Why must this be so hard?)

The Heavens reimburse.

She stiffens, her blood rushing in molten torrents. Her thoughts flat-line at her touch, this simple touch of human bonding. But oh! does it feel right! So light and gentle and soft and enlightening!

(If only she could talk . . . .)

"Chikane," she begins. Her arms are wrapped strong about her (breath abated) waist. Those lips are close to that sensitive, clairaudient shell, breath hot and teasing. "you don't need to tell me. I love you, too."

It happens. Her heart stops, stops for just a minute respite, and then, only then does it pump furiously against her rib cage, ready to burst. She looks down at her, this strange and alluring person.

Her rose is in full bloom.

"You . . . you do?"

"What they say or what they think doesn't matter. If they or God Himself condemn us, let them do so. What matters is you."

_'What matters . . . is me. Me . . . .'_

And the arrow hits the mark.

What comes next is blurry, a fog on the horizon, but she knows from the farthest depths of her core that they danced the dance of life. Himeko was everything she imagined she would be. She tasted of sweet nothings and homemade spices. Her hair was as fine as silk, rippling cascades of flaxen gold. Her scent was intoxicating, salty, like the waters of an untouched oasis. She bucked and she writhed, a butterfly pushing to be born from its cocoon.

And there is nothing but their jagged pants, heated bodies, and nature itself. No one to tell them it is wrong, immoral, sinful, damning. No one to tell them that hell is just around the corner.

Just a girl, her lover and a song on the wind.

_(Your feelings will never reach her.)_

She wakes. Moonlight bathes the room in silvers and blues. The clock keeps on going, tick by tick by tick--

_Slam!_

Her fist slams against the wall, her forehead pressed to its cream-colored surface. Tears well up and threaten to fall.

_'Why must it be this way?'_

(There is no other choice. It must be made.)

* * *

This is what you want.

This is what you desire.

These are all the dreams you've ever had.

(Under the moon of many, they wait.)

Too bad it's come to this, eh, Himemiya-sama?

"I've made my decision."

(The birthmark explodes in a shower of wings that falls in clumps of fading nothingness. Her reflection is blinded to the point where she can't see the tears spill down her cheeks or the color in her seraphic blue orbs drain to an abysmal black.)

"Can you do it?"

"What does not kill me will make me stronger."

"I understand."

(At the center of the universe, something fierce rips apart. Unfathomable, unknowable, inconceivable . . . .)

_'I'm so sorry, Himeko.'_

(And then the Beast awakens.)

* * *

_'The dream that would come true someday  
Only becomes a faint, unheard mutter  
Wandering while inside the light of the night  
Soon those eyes will open. If it's fate  
At least, yes, only now . . . .'_  
-- KOTOKO, "Agony"


End file.
